I Don't Suffer Insanity, I Enjoy It!
by My Little Harlequin
Summary: Ever thought there would be someone as crazy as the Joker? You've found her. When Lizzie MacMillan is poisoned by a new experimental toxin the Joker has created, her mind reacts, ruins her life, endangers her loved ones, and eventually kills her. Joker/OC
1. Prologue

_A/N: Okay, first chapter! I've never written an O.C meets already created character before! I am nervous. I hope I don't make this girl a Mary Sue! (bites nails)BTW, sorry this is a short piece, but it IS a prologue, after all. And sorry if anyone reads this whose name is Lisbeth. Me, I think it's a pretty name (better than Rachel, anyway) but most people hate their names, so..._

_God, this is scary! _

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Prologue:

My name is Lisbeth MacMillan, but since Lisbeth is a crappy old fashioned name, you can call me Lizzie. Would you like to hear my story? It doesn't have a happy ending, but which of ours does? If you're not into fairytales full of romance, triumph over evil and most importantly, _non insane people, _then read on....

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_Please review! _


	2. Best Friend Killed By Her

_A/N: Thanks very much to all the people who reviewed! Sorry the chapter was so short, too. At least this one's longer. Sorry about all this dialogue too._

_Enjoy!_

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"Hurry up, Lizzie! Honestly, a snail could move faster than you these days!" Dawn Jefferson tossed her blonde tresses over her shoulder impatiently, and fixed her best friend with a formidable brown glare.

Lisbeth MacMillan threw her white little hands in the air hopelessly. "I'm sorry, Dawn! There's just so much paperwork, and I'm _still_ not done..."

Dawn's glare intensified. "What's more important? Your best friend's 21st, or your stupid job? It practically took me a year to get reservations at that restaurant, and if we're late, we'll have to-"

"Okay, okay!" Lizzie growled, rolling her eyes. "I'll leave it til tomorrow."

"Good." Dawn turned her attention to the full length, gilt framed mirror in the corner of the little office, appraising her figure in the tight blue satin dress that hugged her curves.

"Hmm..I really do think blue is my colour...does this hairdo make me look hot?" She twirled a finger absently in her golden locks.

Lizzie sighed. "Yes, Dawn." She said tiredly, as if she'd given this compliment a thousand times. "You look-"

Lizzie swallowed her praise when the lights flickered, and with a hiss, burned out completely.

"Hey!" Dawn complained, invisible in the sudden darkness. "I wasn't finish-"

Dawn, too, stopped what she was going to say when something moved in the shadows of the pitch black room.

"Liz?" Dawn's voice came back, small and frightened instead of annoying and whiny. "Is that you, Liz? Stop it right now!"

"I'm not doing anything!" Lizzie snapped back. "There's someone in here."

With a crackle, the lights came back on. Lizzie closed her eyes against the sudden brightness.

"I believe it is called..._stating the obvious._" A high voice remarked. Lizzie gasped when she felt a rough hand on her arm, jerking it behind her back. She opened her eyes to the most terrible, nightmarish face she had ever seen.

Eyes like black fire set in a face as white as snow. Horrific scars that snaked their way up pale cheeks. Blood red lips that parted as the man grinned, exposing yellowed, slightly jagged teeth. His face looked horribly like that of a demented clown.

"Well, well, well. What have we here, hmm?" He asked, and then giggled. The sound was high, excited, and feverish. It belonged in an asylum. This sad clown was a freak, and he probably knew it. Knew it, and didn't care.

His black eyes roved over Lizzie, and she felt as if his gaze were burning a hole right through her. She was slightly relieved when he turned his eyes on Dawn.

Dawn whimpered and struggled feebly against the grip of the accomplice in the clown mask.

The head clown's face stretched into a yellow smile, scars twitching slightly. Horrible.

"What's the matter, Miss Jefferson?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Dawn gasped when he said her name. _How does he know?_ Lizzie thought in shock.

"You look a little nervous," the clown continued. "Are my scars frightening you? You wanna know how I got 'em?"

Dawn whimpered again and shook her head, but the clown just smiled and told her anyway.

"Once upon a time, there was a scientist who loved to experiment in the field of poisons." The clown told the story like a teacher reading to a two year old. "One day, one of his experiments went horribly wrong. He was in the bathroom, testing some chemical poisons. The poisons he had put in a glass reacted against each other, causing it to become a powerful inhaler. It exploded out of the glass vial, and the scientist accidentally breathed some in. All at once, when he turned around, someone appeared before him. This person looked exactly like the scientist, and copied his every move."

"The scientist flicked out a knife to try and scare the copycat off, but the copy brought his own knife out, too. Blinded by gas and controlled by fear, the scientist stabbed blindly at the copycat, but met only cold, hard glass every time. Being very brainy, he realised that whatever he did, the copycat would too. His head was almost consumed by fear at this time, so he tried to kill himself, assuming the copycat would do the same. Unable to see, the scientist meant to slash himself in the chest, but aimed too high and raked his blade across his own face, tearing through his cheeks...When the gas cleared and he woke up, he realised the copy had been himself in the mirror. And that was where I got my scars!"

The clown finished, throwing his arms out in a theatrical way, as though about to take a bow. Lizzie wrinkled her nose.

The clown laughed happily. "Isn't that a wonderful story?" He asked, gazing at Dawn, who stared back with huge, frightened brown eyes. She didn't answer.

The clown grinned mockingly. "What's wrong? Clown got your tongue?"

Dawn still didn't answer. The man frowned. "You didn't answer." He mock-pouted. "That's COLD. I think you should be punished, and I have just the thing..."

He snapped his gloved fingers, and one of his accomplices stepped forward, handing him a gun.

"Dawn, dearest?" The clown said. Dawn looked up at him, shaking uncontrollably.

"Why so serious?" He asked, and then shot her.

Lizzie screamed in horror and fury as Dawn collapsed on the floor, one hand holding lightly onto the dart that was sticking out of her neck.

"Your turn!" The clown cried happily as he turned his endless smile, and the gun, on Lizzie.

There was no time to scream. Hell, she could not even move. She just gazed at the gun, and waited for unconsciousness to come.

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_Huge black spiders, crawling softly over my skin, tickling me._

_A shark, maw open wide, slicing straight for me through the icy water._

_A ventriloquist's dummy, endlessly grinning, stalking towards me on wooden legs, unblinking eyes boring a hole in me._

_A mummy, wrapped clumsily in gauze, raising its deathly hands toward me, I see the grinning skull underneath._

_And a clown, a clown juggling bombs instead of rubber balls, about to torture and kill._

_Put them together and get...all the things I fear._

_I awake screaming._

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The Joker laughed crazily as Lizzie's blue eyes opened, and she began to scream. Her eyes wheeled wildly in her head, searching for something she couldn't see. Her white fingers raked down her arms, leaving marks, scratching off invisible crawlers. She gasped, and then screamed again, a bloodcurdling shriek of fear.

The Joker loved every minute of it. He cackled madly as the girl thrashed ad yelled on the ground before him, her hands tangling in her thick black hair, ripping strands out as she struggled against invisible bonds on the hard floor.

Her face became steadily redder as she screamed, not pausing to draw breath. Beside her, Dawn was not screaming. She was still unconscious.

Lizzie suddenly became still, and her terrified screeching stopped. Her wild, empty eyes were focused on Dawn.

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_A terrible face, one I've only seen in my worst nightmares. No lips to cover white, brittle teeth in a grinning skull face. No eyes, just empty black sockets, staring through to my soul. The bleached white bone blows in the light, and the skeleton leers at me as it gets to its bony feet._

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Lizzie jumped to her feet at the same time Dawn did. Dawn's face was still calm, as calm as it is possible to be when one is being surrounded by men in clown masks. But Lizzie was consumed by fear.

Her suddenly violent blue eyes were fixed on Dawn's face. Lizzie advanced, her white hands balled into fists, about to attack the skeleton she was convinced she was seeing. She tripped suddenly, and picked up the object she had stumbled over. One of the masked men's guns.

Lizzie weighed it speculatively in her little hand, then raised it slowly to the level of Dawn's head.

She pulled the trigger.

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_A/N: Please review!_


	3. Goes Insane

_A/N: OK, so this is where she goes insane. I had to cut out some bits that were stupid, so it's shorter than it would have been. Sorry. _

_Anyhoo, hope you guys enjoy it!_

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Lizzie woke sharply, gasping, hyperventilating. She had had terrible dreams, some of the worst. In her dream, she had been attacked by clowns in masks, they had poisoned her, and she had died in fits of agony.

_But that isn't real, _Lizzie reminded herself. She'd always had a way of confusing dreams and reality.

Suddenly, the clown man was there, appearing straight out of her past nightmare, only this time she was already awake. He stood silently over her, casting a long shadow across the hard floor of the office where she lay.

He hadn't moved her? Oh well. At least she wasn't kidnapped.

"Good morning, starshine!" The clown exclaimed in a piercing, sing-song voice.

Lizzie growled. 'Where's Dawn?"

The clown giggled. "Why don't you go and see for yourself?"

Lizzie attempted to stand up, meaning to do just that, but an odd wave of vertigo crashed down on her. _Whoa. Head rush. _She wilted back down onto the floor.

"What have you done to me?"

The clown smirked at her in a very annoying way. "Just after-effects of the poison, sweetie. Nothing you need to worry your little head about!"

Lizzie shot him a withering glance, and then tried again to stand upright. This time she managed it, but she had to hold a pale hand against the wall for support. She ambled slowly and carefully over to her desk, meaning to sit down, but something in the clown's voice stopped her.

"You don't seem afraid." He remarked, cocking his head to one side curiously.

Lizzie wrinkled her little nose in distaste. "Why should I be scared of you?" She scoffed. "You're just an insane freak who should be shut up in an asylum. Trust me, I've dealt with people like you before!"

She sighed and kicked her legs out under the desk in an attempt to relax. Of course, what she would see next was about to destroy all remaining vestiges of peace and relaxation.

"Oh!" Lizzie gasped when her feet bumped something soft and warm. Curiosity aroused, she leaned her head under the desk, careful not to hit it against the hard mahogany wood. She let her eyes adjust to the dark.

And screamed.

Dawn Jefferson lay under the desk, obviously dead, her blonde hair splayed around her face, stained with scarlet. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Her brown eyes were open and glassy. Staring into the chocolate orbs, Lizzie suddenly remembered:

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_A terrible face, one I've only seen in my worst nightmares. No lips to cover white, brittle teeth in a grinning skull face. No eyes, just empty black sockets, staring through to my soul. The bleached white bone glows in the light, and the skeleton leers at me as it gets to its bony feet._

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"No!" Lizzie gasped, a look of absolute terror on her face, as though _she_ was the one about to face death. She killed Dawn. She was a murderer.

A strangled screech tore from Lizzie's lungs, choking off into a strange, gurgling sob. She had murdered her own best friend in a moment of madness.

She didn't want to look at the corpse, but couldn't tear her eyes away. Crying pathetically, she ran her eyes over Dawn's broken, bled out form. Flies swarmed around her like moths to a flame, ever so slowly devouring the soft flesh of Lizzie's friend.

And all the while Lizzie sat there helpless, not doing anything productive about it. She couldn't avenge the murder. She was the one who had committed it.

That was the thought that pushed her over the edge.

Lizzie wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth, gazing at something unseen with wide, staring blue eyes that would not have looked out of place on Dawn's corpse. Ever so quietly, she whispered a laugh. The sound was oddly chilling, she thrilled to the noise. She laughed louder. And louder. Growing in volume until she was screaming with laughter.

Rocking back and forth through the paroxysms of giggles, Lizzie knew her sanity was slipping away from her. Who cared?

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_A/N: Please review! _


	4. Sets A Man On Fire

_A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update! Inspiration was pushed away by writers block, and it took me a while to think of an idea for this chapter. Stupid writers block! (strangles writer's block, then cackles like the Joker) OK, that was weird._

_Anyway, hope you all enjoy this!_

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Lizzie was shaken awake by rough, persistent hands. Her blue eyes opened, and she blinked sleepily, the innocent look about her veiling the madness inside.

"What ya doing, wakin' up me..." She slurred, rubbing small hands over her eyes, clearing them of sleep. She looked wildly up at the man standing over her.

"Be ready in 5." The Joker commanded, his midnight eyes dancing in excitement. "I have a special job for you."

Lizzie jumped up enthusiastically, ready to obey him. _What do people do? _Lizzie wondered to herself, her mental voice swaying as much as her vocal one.

She glared around the room, and spotted a little pink bag on the desk. Ugh! Such an ugly colour. She knew it was hers. But what was in it?

Lizzie stumbled drunkenly over to the desk, picked up the bag, and tried to open it.

_What the hell? _It had a little tag like thing in the middle, and tiny teeth on both sides, locked together. How to open it? Lizzie spied a knife near on the table with her old office phone. Aha!

Lizzie grabbed the knife and slashed the little pink bag with it. She shrieked happily when little tubes and brushes slid out onto the floor.

Lizzie sat down on the floor, content to play with her new toys, but remembered what the clown had said. Be ready in 5? Okay.

Lizzie started with the strange white powder. It smelled so good, she wanted to eat it. She dipped a finger into the chalky dust, and licked her finger. YUCK. She spat on the floor.

What were you supposed to do with this? Lizzie suddenly got an image of that clown guy in her head, and how his face was as white as snow. Oh, so _that_ was what she was meant to do!

She tipped the little box containing the powder upside down; it fell into her hand softly, like sand. She raised her hands to her face and rubbed hard, slapping the makeup over her cheeks, on her forehead, and into her black brows, turning them an unappealing shade of grey. Next came the sticky black stuff on a stick. Remembering the clown, she streaked the mascara down her cheeks on her nose, almost down to her jaw line. Last came lipstick. It was a funny little thing in a tube, sliding up and down when you twisted it, and Lizzie amused herself for a minute with it. Then she ran the lipstick along the length of her lips, and curved it up along her cheeks to make two red lines twisting up to her ears. To make things funnier, she ended the imitation scars in a little curl, like cat's whiskers.

Lizzie looked awful. It was absolutely perfect.

At that moment, The clown paraded back into the room, and Lizzie had the satisfaction of seeing his inky eyes pop open wide for a second, before he smoothed his expression back into one of well, expressionless.

"Hey, this is awfully reminiscent of how I got my scars. I told you about copycats!" He grinned, and then led the way out of the building to a car where his henchmen waited.

Lizzie followed him, practically with a wagging tail, out to his car and got in, in a state of high anticipation of the pleasure to come...

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The car slid smoothly to a stop outside a building that gave off a general appearance of 'Do Not Enter'. It was gloomy looking, the paint was peeling and the entire place gave off a terrible odour of garbage.. Lizzie thought it was lovely, of course. She breathed the smell of the building in deeply as she, the Joker and his henchmen walked through the double doors, down a hallway and into a cramped, miniscule room.

There was absolutely nothing in it, as it first seemed to the naked eye. But when Lizzie looked again she spied a tiny man in the centre of the room. Lizzie observed him inquisitively. The little man had smooth, coffee coloured skin, chaotic hair in a startling shade of red, and was wearing a rumpled green suit, faded and wrinkly from being tied up in the small space for who knew how long. He was bound and gagged on the floor.

He jerked when he saw them, and shrieked through the gag what appeared to be an insult. The Joker giggled and adopted a soothing expression.

"It's alright, little baby. Lizzie here will take care of you for a while, so behave for her, hmm?"

The small man struggled feebly against his ropes, whimpering behind the gag, occasionally letting out a small screech and a few hushed words.

The Joker's raven eyes flashed. "I said, _behave_." He growled, turning for the door. His henchmen twisted around to follow him, but the Joker stopped suddenly and swivelled round to face Lizzie.

"One hour, Liz." He murmured, stroking her cheek with his knife blade, almost drawing blood. He dropped the knife into her hand, and then turned for the door once again, laughing softly.

Lizzie knew she was supposed to kill this man. She was so eager to obey the Joker she almost couldn't wait for an hour to pass so she could commit the crime. But the clown would be angry if she didn't, and so she waited.

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About half an hour later, Lizzie sat with the little man in a chair she had stolen after exploring the rest of the place. She played idly with the knife blade, remembering how the Joker had caressed her cheek with it, nearly making her legs collapse. Lost in reminiscence, she jumped in the seat when she realised the man was talking to her.

"So how did you get sucked into this plot, huh?" He asked bitterly. He spoke with a strong Irish accent. Apparently, he had spat out the gag. Lizzie frowned. How did she get sucked into the plot? _What plot? What does plot even mean? _It was too much stress for her brain to think about that, so she gave up.

"Who are you, puny?" She asked rudely, her words coming out like garbled mush. The man was somehow able to understand, though.

The man glowered at her from small, emerald green eyes.

"lulucon." He mumbled, so quietly Lizzie had not a hope of hearing what he said.

"Excuse me?" Lizzie said, this time with not so much of a slur.

"Leprechaun, okay?" He shouted, and his face turned as red as his hair. It seemed as if he expected she would laugh at him, and it was pretty hilarious.

"That's funny!" Lizzie giggled. "Do you have any other jokes?"

The little man, alias the Leprechaun's, glare intensified. "It's not a joke, bitch!" He spat. "You're the joke! You don't belong here, in this world. Go back home to Mummy and Daddy and cry about how the mobsters didn't treat you right!"

Lizzie tossed her black, frizzy hair over her shoulders; it whipped as if in an invisible wind. "I can make...my own...decisions." She mumbled drunkenly, and then she cackled. At that moment, she looked more like the Wicked Witch of the West than a mildly pretty, averagely innocent girl. The reason she was laughing?

She had just spied a barrel of oil in the corner.

"And I decide I am going to kill you..." She giggled. And then her sky blue eyes hardened, and the grin left her face.

"...Slowly." She hissed, and struck a match.

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_Burning, blistering, scorching, searing, scalding. Small words in a dictionary with more words explaining what the names mean and do. But it is nothing compared to watching it firsthand._

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The Leprechaun was nothing but a charcoal briquette. Everything but his charred bones and teeth had been razed to ash. Lizzie had watched the playout of the scene before her through unfeeling, emotionless eyes, seen the living being reduced to a pile of cinders. It had most definitely been longer than an hour. Thinking about all this, Lizzie suddenly realised that she was thinking. Actually thinking. She hadn't really thought about anything in these past few hours. She was back!

But the joy was only temporary. The evidence of her latest murder was still before her. She looked down again, through eyes unclouded by poison and craziness this time.

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_The victim's ashes are presented before me, spiralling up into the air, dancing on the wind. The evidence of another of my very own murders. Not my first, and almost certainly not my last if the clown has anything to say about it. Another life annihilated, by my hands._

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Lizzie gazed down at the embers on the ground, and the force of what she had done hit her like a wrecking ball, no better than the first time. But, unlike last time, she did not lose her sanity. She closed her eyes and imagined.

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_I want out. I want it to end. And the end comes._

_The world is on fire, burning around me. I am laughing in exultation. _

_Salvation has arrived. But then I see the clown's face through the flames. Good job, Lizzie! He mouths to me, and then disappears into the blaze like a ghost._

_It was me that set the world on fire. My fault again._

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Lizzie awoke from her miniature daydream in a fit of crushing grief. Tears splashing down her cheeks, her sobs echoing in her own ears, she heard not the sirens behind her, the shouted orders of the policemen, but only felt the hands, unexpectedly gentle, leading her away from the small scene of destruction behind.

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_A/N: Well, another chapter done! Just so you know, that stroking-blade-across-cheek thing, that was no romantic thing. This is not a romance, there's no happy ending, and of course Lizzie does not end up with the Joker. He was just experimenting with his power over her (when she's mad too, anyway). Hope you enjoyed this, and please review! xxx =)_


	5. Becomes Herself For A While In Hospital

_A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update! I have been working on my book (which I am getting published, YAY GO ME!) and that takes a lot of time, as all of you who write novels know! Anyway, enough talking, on with the show!!!_

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Gordon watched through the transparent glass, observing the small girl in the white hospital bed. His heart thumped with compassion when the girl put her face in her hands and started to cry, sobs shaking her thin shoulders. Tears leaked through her fingers, running silvery trails down her cream skin. She raised her face to the pale ceiling and let out a wail. Gordon couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't the sort of man who could ignore distress. He opened the door and slipped inside.

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"And your name is...?"

"Lizzie MacMillan." She choked. Gordon smiled gently, he couldn't stop his eyes from inspecting her in a way that was more than a policeman sussing out a criminal. She was pretty, with her crystal blue eyes and her porcelain skin. What was she wasting her life for with the Joker? Gordon repeated this question aloud, and got a shock when his simple enquiry sent her into a hysterical fit.

When she could speak, Lizzie glared at him balefully. "You think I have a choice? He put something in me, a poison. Made me murder my best friend, and another random man! Don't you _DARE_ tell me it was my own free will that got me into this mess!"

"But you're sane now?" Gordon asked bluntly, to the point. Lizzie chuckled; the sound was dead, humourless.

"Temporarily. He'll find me. He'll take me back and gas me again, if he doesn't kill me for telling you all _this_. I'll kill loads of people. I'll kill you. You'll see. I-"

"STOP!" Gordon shouted, panic in his eyes. Lizzie's voice was flat and monotonous as she droned on and on. "We've got you safe here! The Joker can't-Lizzie?"

Lizzie had returned. "Where, may I ask, have you brought me?"

Gordon looked down abashedly. "Gotham General Hospital."

But he had always been a bad liar. Lizzie tucked her arms up into her nightie and swivelled it round, then on second thought, took it right off. Gordon gasped, and closed his eyes._ Unprofessional, unprofessional! _He chanted in his head.

Lizzie read the tag. There, in austere, bold letters, were the words:

**ARKHAM ASYLUM**

"Liar!" Lizzie screamed. Gordon could tell her control over herself was slipping. He opened his eyes and caught one glimpse of her naked form before she chucked a crystal vase at his head. It smashed against the metal door behind him, shattering into a thousand tiny shards, sparkling in the artificial light. Gordon definitely knew it was time to go. He threw open the door, sprinted out of the room, already on the phone, and anyone nearby would have heard him yell:

"_Bring him in..."_

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_A/N: Sorry the chap was so short! Please review!_


	6. Bombs Wayne Tower

_A/N: All of you who love long chapters, this is for you! You too Gemmie, hope you love this 5 bloody pages long chapter!_

_Enjoy!_

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The vigilante known as Batman strode briskly into Room 139 in a swish of black cape and cowl. His dark eyes swept the room briefly, resting on the sleeping girl with the split, witchy black hair who was lost in fitful sleep, tossing and turning restlessly, never waking. Batman changed all that when he grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and shook her. Lizzie groaned and blinked her sleepy blue eyes. She lolled her head back and got a good look at her assailant. She screamed. With his midnight cape and his equally dark mask, standing over her with a sinister look in his dark eyes, he resembled the Grim Reaper!

Batman rolled his chocolate brown eyes, drawn deep into his mask. "Lizzie MacMillan, I presume?"

His voice was a smoker's rasp. It was so horrible! Lizzie shrieked senselessly, her mind hopelessly confused in half-formed thoughts:

Batman...reaper...black...Joker...Leprechaun...fear...scars...Dawn...makeup...black...white...red...

"AH!" She yelled, half in fear, other half in frustration. She broke out of her mind just in time for Batman to sweep her up in his arms and throw her over his back the way a farmer carries a sack of grain.

Ignoring her shrieks, Batman marched out of the room, out of the ward, one armour-clad arm out in front of him, pushing aside any misguided doctor or nurse who stood in his way. The reason Batman was abducting Lizzie? Easy. He had read her face. Clichéd, but true. Lizzie's face was open, and very easy to read, and her blue eyes were expressive, and Batman had watched the play of emotion across her features, and seen the truth in them. No, she wasn't crazy. There was no doubt about that. Confused and afraid, yes, but her mind was yet to be lost completely. Batman was no stranger to dangerous, mind-boggling toxins. After all, he _had _saved District Attorney Rachel Dawes from hallucinogen, been infected by it himself, and ultimately saved the entire of Gotham City from the odious Dr Crane, alias Scarecrow. The answer to Lizzie's poison was obvious to him. It was all in the antidote. It was time to meet with Lucius Fox.

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Half an hour later, Batman and Lucius Fox were on Fox's ground floor department in Wayne Tower. Fox, a wise black man with fuzzy grey hair that stuck up like cotton buds, was sitting down, staring at a humming computer modem, watching the numbers and letters mixed up on the screen begin to reform.

"Aha!" Fox smiled. "Just like last time. Hallucinogen, exactly the same as Crane's inhaler."

Batman nodded, relief in the lines around his tight-lipped mouth. He turned round and looked at Lizzie, who lay sedated on the cold floor, breathing slowly and steadily. A trickle of blood ran from her neck, like a vampire bite. This was the blood sample Fox had used to analyse her blood. The computer had a lot of special talents, as one would if it were one of Fox's brilliant inventions. One of them just happened to be analysation of toxins. It had been built for hospital ships in the war, where they had acid bombs and such other poisonous fumes.

Fox cleared his throat. "Mister Wayne...you don't have to answer this. I'm just curious....Why her?"

Bruce/Batman frowned pensively. "I don't know." He admitted, still using his mask and rasping voice in case Lizzie was to wake. "She reminds me of Rachel. She's got that fire in her. I read that in her eyes. See the way she fights the poison even now. Nobody regained conscious thought after Scarecrow's poisoning, yet she has managed to come back, if only partly. She deserves to live."

Fox nodded. "It will take me at least three days to manufacture the antidote. We'll keep her here in the meantime. But I warn you, Mr Wayne. She may be finished already. If I give her the antidote, it may not have any effect, or it could worsen her."

"Or it could make her better!" Batman said firmly. "I'm not giving up, Lucius. Batman's supposed to help people."

Fox grimaced. "I'll be here in three days. Pray for a miracle, Bruce."

He left, and a few long seconds later, Bruce followed.

Safe inside the Wayne Tower stronghold, Lizzie opened her eyes.

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The sedative had worn off fairly quickly. Lizzie glared around the room, letting her mind sink into the confused, vague stupor she was well used to by now. She had always hated enclosed spaces, and though the ground floor of Wayne Tower was very spacious, it still felt claustrophobic, particularly as Lizzie was completely alone in the silence.

Lizzie eased off the floor on shaky white arms. She caught sight of her reflection in the metallic shine of a steel cupboard. She looked awful.

Hang on? She recognised herself? Lizzie realised she could actually think now. Part of her brain wasn't shrouded in mist anymore; it was as crystal clear as the reflection she was staring at.

If she was out of control completely like before, she definitely would not have been able to put a name to the girl in the steel mirror. Suppose the effects of the poison wore off in time. Suppose the Joker wasn't aware of it. Lizzie could feel excitement swelling in her chest. She was back, for real this time. But the Joker would find her, she reminded herself, and when he did, he would expect her to be as lost in lunacy as he was. She needed a plan, and she needed one fast.

She turned her new attention to her reflection. She almost yelled, "Who is this?"

Lizzie's face was ashen, anaemic, and bloodless. Her waxy cheeks were hollow, her eyes dulled with deep bags underneath them. Her slender frame was emaciated now, the bones prominent under the ivory skin. She felt old and tired, looking at this ghostlike girl in the mirror. Sick at the fact that _this_ was what poison could do to her, what tricks her mind could play.

_And I will stop it_, she vowed. _I'll have to pretend insanity until it fades completely, fool everyone...even the Joker, hard as that will be, on account of the complete nutter he is anyway. I will NOT let him control me again!_

Lizzie knew it would be hard. She might have part of her mind back, but that was like the peak of the mountain. It was a long trek back down. Part of her still rejoiced in being the Clown Prince's puppet.

She sighed and turned her back on her reflection, and scanned the large room. She strolled leisurely among the metal shelves and cabinets, planning all the while.

_I'll have to convince them of insanity, do something really bad_, she mused. _My first consciously evil act. What will I do?_

The sensible side of her mind instantly rebelled against the thought of anything violent, but she silenced it immediately, of course thinking of the Joker, who would get her back before you could say, Why So Serious? She wasn't safe here. It was ridiculous to think she'd be safer with the Joker, but at the moment that was truth.

Lizzie remembered the hours of watching boring business channels on TV (she'd had to, for her own business work.) She knew that Wayne Enterprises was a business of many talents, and one of those talents was military warfare, and warfare's talent was explosives.

__

_No! Yes! Don't do it! Do it! You'll kill people! Who bloody cares?_

_I can't think through the voices in my head. Shut up! I know it's the wrong thing, but I'm trapped. I can do nothing else. _

_I am going to bomb Wayne Tower._

__

Lizzie ran over to one of the metal cabinets, yanking open the drawers. Bingo! And on her first try. In a wooded box stamped: **WAYNE ENTERPRISES**, was a tub full of sticks of dynamite.

But it wasn't that easy. Lizzie needed a match. She pulled open the rest of the drawers. Guns, grenades, powder, more dynamite. But no matches.

She ran to another chest of drawers and pulled out its contents, dumping them on the floor for good measure, and sifting through them. No matches.

After what seemed like an hour but was really five minutes, Lizzie had searched practically every drawer in this stupid room. In desperation, she rifled through her jacket, which had been lying next to her while she was sedated. As a matter of fact, there _was_ something small and square in her breast pocket. She fished it out. Aha!

It was terribly coincidental to find matches in your pockets when you had looked everywhere else but there. Where did they come from? Lizzie remembered the Leprechaun, how he was assassinated. She had had matches then, hadn't she? Disgusted, she almost crushed the matchbox under her foot. Almost, but not quite. She had to do this, or there would be another episode of Innocent Person Burning Alive. Lizzie struck the match against the rough side of the box. Immediately, it's little red tip burst into amber flame, dancing in the air-conditioning breeze. Lizzie's bad side was entranced by the little fire, thinking it beautiful. The good side of Lizzie's mind was disdainful of the miniature conflagration, of course thinking of all the people cremated by raging infernos. But there was no time to think at all. Lizzie put the matches' end to the fuse of the dynamite, and fed the flames.

__

Lizzie had begun the countdown when Batman walked out of the silver lift and back into Fox's hideout. Lizzie turned sharply; the sound of the elevator doors had alerted her. There were fifteen seconds to go. Lizzie's sadistic side enjoyed watching Batman's face change under the mask as he took in the shelves in disarray on the floor, the blackened, burnt out match, the sparking fuse.

"NO!" He yelled, but for once he was unable to move, captured by the indecision in Lizzie's sapphire eyes.

__

_The _voices_ in my head again. I think I'm getting schizophrenia. There's no time! I want to tell Batman, say I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. But I can't._

_5...4...3...2..._

__

Moving as fast as a striking snake, Lizzie drew her arm back then let it snap forward, and the burning stick of dynamite was rushing towards Batman's head. He ducked, and the explosive shot over his head, and into the almost closed elevator doors. With a metallic screech, the elevator exploded, crumpling into black metal.

Lizzie screamed in panic. She was going to escape in the elevator, and it was gone, trapping them inside Fox's demolishing department. She ran senselessly towards the metal wall that barred her exit into fresh air, her instincts guiding her somehow. A fireball leapt from the remains of the elevator, reaching out to the walls. The explosive fire blossomed into a yellow flower of flame. Lizzie screamed again and leapt back, just before the wall exploded in her face. She raced out through the ashy hole into the busy street full of staring people.

All around her, glowing embers fell from the wreckage slightly above her head, spiralling in the breeze, settling on the sidewalk, on the road, in Lizzie's hair. A smell of singed hair filled her nose. It was raining fire!

"Out of the way!" A police officer yelled, panicking. He grabbed Lizzie, obviously not realising that _she_ was the one who had blown up the ground floor of Wayne Tower. If he had realised, Lizzie would have been in an armoured divvy van so fast she wouldn't know what had hit her.

As if on cue, a police car squealed up to the sidewalk, but at quick glance she spied a clown masked accomplice behind the wheel. She opened the passenger door of the cop car. The Joker grinned at her from the seats. Lizzie's heart thumped. _The act begins._

"Welcome back." He greeted. Lizzie smiled dementedly and climbed in, not bothering with seatbelts of course. They spun round and accelerated in the other direction. Lizzie turned around in her seat and looked out the boot window. It was like watching a horror movie on mute. People milled about screaming inaudibly as burning embers fell on them. A huge fist of flame punched up from the ruined ground floor and spread hungrily up the entire building, as the rest of Wayne Tower fell apart. Toppling forward, it crushed down on the train tracks, cars, and anyone unable to get out of the way quickly enough.

The clown driver whistled appreciatively. "Wow."

Lizzie turned away from the annihilation, and once again set off on the road to ruins.

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_A/N: Please review! That means you! Hey, that rhymes! XD_


	7. Almost Slaughters An Innocent Family

_A/N: Hey everyone! Hope you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one just as much. This story is almost over, only one or two more chapters now! Sorry this chap's a bit short, I couldn't make it too long or it would go into the next chapter and disrupt the flow. I hope you like the plot twist in this part as well lol!_

_Enjoy!_

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Lizzie finally put the image of the burning tower out of her mind when the Joker spoke to her. "Well done with the Wayne job, Lizzie!" He praised her. "I'm so glad I found you, I knew instantly you had the potential...There's another, umm, _job _for us around the corner. You up for it?"

Lizzie almost gasped. _What? No! _She hadn't expected this, she hadn't planned this! There wasn't supposed to be another job so soon! She had bargained on a few days at least!

_You could always say no,_ she reminded herself._ But he'll think something's wrong if I refuse!_ She screamed in her mind.

_Please let it just be burning someone else's house down, with no one in there!_ She prayed, and pasting on a harlot's smile, she agreed to the job eagerly.

The Joker's eternal grin widened. "Good...Stop here!" He commanded. The car screeched to a stop, and Lizzie looked out the window, surprised to see that it was dark, almost midnight. _Wow! We must have been driving for hours._

She was content to wait, let her eyes adjust to the dusky darkness, but the Joker wasn't _that_ patient.

"Come on, firebug!" He cried, leaping out of the car, giggling in excitement. _Is 'firebug' supposed to be endearing? _Lizzie wondered. She jumped out of the car too, doing her best to seem enthusiastic, and looked up at the large house in front of her. The home was built on a large square of land, made of sandstone in a lovely shade of cream, with blue terracotta tiles adorning the roof. It was pretty, and it reminded Lizzie of her own home. Her heart ached for the old days, so far in the past now. She wondered if she would ever make it back there alive. She grinned at the Joker, and they stepped through the dainty little white gate, and stalked together up the cobbled pathway.

After breaking open the door with a crowbar (quietly, surprisingly) they crept along the hallway, with the Joker humming 'Tiptoe through the Tulips' softly behind her, Lizzie asked the question that had been playing in her mind since she had first seen 31 Birch Crescent. "What are we to do?" She hissed, trying to sound as if she didn't really care at all, though, being in a state of high nervousness, this was hard. The Joker turned and smirked at her.

"Paying homage to the Batman." He replied. "With any luck, when he sees the impending slaughter in this house, he'll go mad too! Ha!" He laughed. "I love this job! Here," he handed Lizzie his switchblade. "Ladies first!"

How did he get this? Lizzie mused. He gave it to me just before I burnt the Lep...ugh. Her mind shied away from the memory instinctively, and she crinkled her nose up as if she smelled something bad.

The Joker cleared his throat and rolled his inky eyes towards the door, indicating that she was to go through it. Lizzie looked at the little sign on the door, it was homemade and in messy letters, it read:

**BETHANY =)**

Lizzie twisted the doorknob and switchblade in hand, sneaked in.

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_The little girl named Bethany is in here, lying asleep, snuggled into the flower bedspread, strands of bright red hair spread on the pillow. I envy her in sleep, envy that she has no nightmares, or if she does, nothing that is truly horrifying. I look at the perfect, smooth-skinned face of the five year old. I can't do this! A not-so-innocent man is bad enough, but a little girl, her life new and barely lived; it is death to commit this! But is it her or me? I want to scream, but I can't, he'll hear me and know something's not right. I'll bet he never had a moment of indecision in slaughter, the horrible, sadistic b-_

__

The Joker's voice interrupted Lizzie's turmoil. "Hurry up, Lizzie!" He hissed to her from the doorway, and that was when the little girl woke up.

"Mommy?" She whispered, looking up at Lizzie with horrified green eyes, the colour of chartreuse. In the moonlight seeping in through the window, Lizzie looked like an evil witch, straight out of a little child's nightmare, with her chalky skin and her flowing ebony hair, and most of all, the silver knife blade flashing in her hand. Hearing the little girl speak, it shattered Lizzie's heart, her resolve.

"I'm so sorry!" She sobbed, raising the knife over her head. The little girl started to cry too, sensing her death approach. Lizzie closed her eyes and stabbed down.

__

_An explosion of cussing behind me, the likes of which I've only heard in pubs. Just as I plunge the knife down, a hand grabs my wrist, its taut fingers twisting my arm around. I hear a sickening snap, then a piercing scream of agony. I think it's mine. I drop the knife, which I had been aiming towards my own heart, it clatters to the floor. The person, if it is me, is still screaming. My arm hurts so much! A gloved hand grabs my chin and jerks it up, and I'm staring into _his_ god-awful face again. The clown looks furious, though that's impossible because he's still smiling."Bad choice, idiot Lizzie!" He murmurs, stroking my cheeks, they feel wet, I am crying. I can hear frantic footsteps in the hallway, coming nearer every second. He draws the fist not holding my chin, and lets it snap forward. His clenched hand smashes into my jaw. Everything goes back._

__

The Joker pulled out a gun just as Bethany's parents sprinted, out of breath, into her room. Not bothering to shoot them, he aimed the gun towards the girl's window. He pulled the trigger and the window shattered, the tiny pieces of glass falling to the floor like sharp, cutting rain.

"Follow us and she dies!" He snarled, indicating Lizzie on the floor. He scooped her up and handed her to an accomplice who had mysteriously appeared outside the window. Then he cackled and leapt out after them. Lizzie, in the clown accomplice's arms, groaned, and her eyelids fluttered. She remembered the Joker's furious face, the way he'd snapped her arm effortlessly. The pain had been so great, but it was dulling now. There was a lot of pain in her chest, whether she'd actually stabbed herself or was just broken hearted, she couldn't tell. Lizzie was fading. _This is it, _she thought. _This is the end._

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_A/N: By the way, this is not the end._


	8. Swallows Arsenic Acid

_A/N: Last chapter (sob, sob) Do I need to say anything else? On with the show!_

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It wasn't the end, apparently. Lizzie rolled over, making sure she could still move. Her left arm was numb. She poked it.

"Ah!" She gasped, closing her blue eyes. The sudden blaze of pain made her want to throw up, she sat up and heaved. Nothing. She remembered she hadn't eaten for days. She should have been dead by now!

Lizzie breathed slowly and steadily as the pain dulled as quickly as it had flared up. Her forehead was shining with sweat. She looked down at her arm. It was bound messily in a sling that greatly resembled a jacket; she peeled it away and got a good look at her arm. She almost gagged again.

The bone in her left arm stuck right up, veiled thinly by skin, looking as if it were about to tear through the delicate membrane at any moment. The skin where the bone poked at was riddled with bruises in hideous shades of black and blue.

This time when Lizzie retched, something did come of it; a clear liquid, almost like water, slopped to the floor, little bubbles breaking on its surface. Lizzie turned her face away, nauseated. A snicker sounded from the other end of the room.

Lizzie glared at the Joker, who stood giggling in the corner of the room. "A bit the worse for wear, are we?" He enquired. "You were so upset last night, sweetie, but you should know by now it doesn't solve anything to turn to suicide!" He scolded, waving a disapproving, purple-gloved finger.

Lizzie ignored his chatter and looked around the room, trying to get a grip on her surroundings. She was in a dirty, dingy room, cluttered with mismatched furniture and giving off a musty odour, like a nursing home. Papers reigned everywhere, on the table, the chairs, and even on the ugly vinyl sofa on which Lizzie lay.

"Where am-"

The Joker interrupted before Lizzie could complete the hackneyed phrase. "Welcome to my humble abode!" He crowed, waving his hand around the squalid room. "Isn't it lovely?"

Lizzie groaned inwardly, but knew she had to keep up the act. "Sure is!" She agreed. She picked up one of the many newspapers on the arm of the couch and scanned it. She was surprised to see an article of herself on the front page. Lizzie read it with enthusiasm:

Gotham Daily News: Insane and Dangerous: MacMillan on the Loose 

_Lisbeth MacMillan, 20 years of age, is the woman believed of influence with the terrorist the Joker, and the killer of two citizens of Gotham. The double homicide would most probably result in a sentence of up to 6-10 years, in the case of MacMillan still being at large, maybe more years will be added to her impending sentence. Aside from the two murders, MacMillan has also allegedly caused the destruction of Wayne Tower, therefore greatly upsetting Mr Bruce Wayne, and broken into a private home of Bob and Stephanie Martin, and reportedly threatening to kill their 5 year old daughter, Bethany. MacMillan is rumoured insane, and reportedly is set for Arkham Asylum the moment she is pulled off the streets. Citizens of Gotham, if you see this girl, please dial the hotline on 04 1934. Turn the page for pictures of MacMillan, so you will be well informed if you do spot her. Be of vigilance._

_Article by Stacey Newman. _

Lizzie turned the page and stared intensely at the myriad of pictures. They were all taken recently, and the first one, a little blurry, showed Lizzie, Dawn and their friend Harry at a local restaurant. Tears sprang to Lizzie's eyes. That photo had been taken with Harry's camera! Had he condemned her insane as well? She tore her gaze from the photograph and turned to the next one. Again it was of herself and Dawn, laughing at the camera, their faces bright and happy. Lizzie scanned the rest of the pictures. _All Dawn and me. _It was as if the pathetic newspaper was _trying _to torment her. It was working. Lizzie slammed it shut; the papers rustled angrily, she threw it down to the grubby floor, intending never to look at it again. But the page it fell open to caught her eye:

It was a picture of Lizzie, with no one else in the frame this time. It was a large portrait, only showing Lizzie's head and shoulders. Lizzie's cream skin was lit up with a rosy flush in this picture, her black hair smooth and glossy, her blue eyes sparkling.

Out of all the pictures, this one hurt her the most. It clawed at her heart to see the happy, naive innocence of her azure eyes, so different from the dull, melancholy stare she now wore. Eyes that had seen too much, compared to eyes that had seen nothing at all.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, running in rivulets on her skin. She let out one dry, gasping sob.

The Joker giggled. "Aww, why so serious, love? No need to cry, I have something that will cheer you right up!"

"What?" Lizzie moaned, sick of him; sick of everything.

"I'll take you to my lab!" He announced, as if this were a greater treat than being taken to the candy shop. "You'll love it there, Lizzie!" He enthused, his black eyes gleaming fanatically.

Lizzie somehow doubted she would, as he put it, 'love it there'. But she followed him out anyway, rubbing all signs of tears away with her white hands, hating the Joker, and hating herself even more.

__

A long while later, the Joker ordered his henchman to stop. Lizzie was startled by the sound of his voice, for everyone had been completely silent on the way to the laboratory. Lizzie had leant her head against the wall and tried not to cry; it was useless. She would see the Joker's stupid lab, then go back to wherever and figure out a plan. She got out of the car, slamming the door. She didn't look up to suss out her surroundings; she no longer cared. The Joker grabbed her arm and pulled her through a swinging door, down a hallway, and they finally came to a stop at a large, forbidding metal door.

"Now, Lizzie, this is the entrance to my lab. I only have one rule in here...break the rules!" He laughed and theatrically threw open the door. Now Lizzie was interested; she gazed around.

There were a great many people moving around, the air was hot with all the active bodies. They were all dressed in chemical resistant suits, white with red numbers on them, that read from zero to god-knows how many. Brightly coloured liquids bubbled away in beakers and test tubes, and scorched over blue flames made by Bunsen burners.

The Joker bounced up and down, as excited as a puppy. He was clearly in his element here. His dark eyes searched the room, and then locked on target, obviously finding what he was seeking. He giggled and grabbed Lizzie's arm again, he dragged her over to a Bunsen burner that was heating a bright blue liquid to boiling point.

"This is the antidote to the poison I gave you! You want it?"

Lizzie's eyes brightened.

"Too bad!" The Joker sang, leading her away from the antidote to another section of the room. Lizzie's eyes flashed; God, he was so CRUEL!

"You didn't think I'd let you off that easy?" He taunted, his black eyes searching her face. "I'm disappointed, Liz! I thought you knew me better than that?"

Lizzie tuned out of his banter and glared down, fuming. Her eyes fell upon a small, glass bottle, with a skull on it and a label shouting:

**POISONOUS CHEMICALS!**

And underneath it, in slightly smaller black letters, were the two words that made every unresolved dilemma of Lizzie's fall into place. Lizzie pulled her arm away from the Joker (surprisingly, he didn't notice) and gazed at it the way a devout priest would gaze if God himself appeared before him. Everything suddenly made sense:

She couldn't escape the Joker, and if she somehow happened to, she'd be put into jail or Arkham for life. _This held the answer. _She'd tried to kill herself, she'd failed. _This held the answer. _She'd been poisoned; the clown wouldn't give her the antidote. _Again, this held the answer._

Amazing, that it all boiled down to the contents of this tiny bottle. Lizzie picked it up and gazed at it in reverence. It was so beautiful, the crystalline white liquid swirling in the beaker; it was the remedy to all her problems. She clutched it tightly.

A sudden loud noise, a splintering of glass, made her turn, shocked. She swiftly moved her good arm so it was behind her back, her fingers still clinging tightly to the neck of the bottle. The Joker's eyes burned with rage, they were black fire as he glared down at Number 31 Chemically Resistant Man.

"That was important." He snarled, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. Lizzie followed his gaze, and saw that a vial lay broken on the floor, liquid in a poisonous shade of green seeping from the mess of shattered glass.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" babbled Number 31; his eyes were scared above the protective mask. "I won't do it again, I promise!"

The Joker's bad mood mysteriously evaporated, but Lizzie could tell the storm wasn't over. "That's for sure!" He agreed, and pulled out a small pistol.

31 gasped, beginning to hyperventilate, his eyes darting left and right. There was no escape; nowhere to run. "Please, no!" He begged, pressed up against the bench.

The Joker grinned devilishly. "Kill him." he ordered, holding the gun out to Lizzie. She hesitated, and then picked it up. Lizzie weighed the gun in her hand, cocked it, and made the crucial decision.

"NO!" She said boldly, curling her finger around the trigger. The bottle she had picked up was now inside her sling, she had palmed it when no-one was looking.

"What do you mean?" The Joker growled, his bad mood returning. Lizzie looked upon him with contempt.

"I mean, no, I won't kill him!" She said icily, pointing the gun instead at the Joker, although they both knew she would not kill him.

"Is this a joke?" The Clown Prince asked, raising his eyebrows.

"The joke's on you, Joker!" Lizzie replied, and then laughed; the wording sounded so ridiculous. "It's over. Finished! You think you can control me? You're so wrong. The poison's gone, and I've got the guts to do what you can't!"

"And what, my darling, would that be?" The Joker snapped, his voice like the grinding of ice floes.

Lizzie stared him down, her blue eyes dancing triumphantly. "I've got the guts to end it...before it ends me!" She replied quietly. She raised her broken arm. It was agony, of course, but that didn't matter. All agony would soon be gone.

She showed him the bottle. "_Arsenic acid_," She read off the label, "_a very poisonous and deadly chemical. DO NOT SWALLOW_...Well, Joker. You said that your only rule in this lab was to break the rules! Here's to you."

She pulled the cap off the bottle with her teeth. Lizzie closed her eyes, breathed in one last time, and downed the contents of the beaker in a single gulp.

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_At first, nothing. I wait, disappointed, wondering if the acid works after all. The next second...an explosion of agony. Every single nerve of my body is alive, and joined to the throbbing pulse of my infected heart. As the liquid fire courses through my veins, surging and burning through every cell, I can feel a cold finger on my cheek. A silken voice whispers to me through the inferno inside me. _

"_Goodbye, Lizzie. It's been fun...ny."_

_The finger strokes softly down my cheek, and then he's gone. The fire is centred now around my beating heart. Its pounding is fading now, the conflagration dulling. And I'm no longer falling. I'm flying._

__

Lizzie MacMillan smiled and closed her eyes.

**THE END**

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**A/N: Acknowledgements:**

**Thanks to all the people who reviewed: Grace Dark, Sanestar and Ghost of Merilwen, you guys are awesome! **

**Most definitely a lot of thanks to Gemmie XD (Gemma) who gave me some really good constructive criticism on my draft and helped me at school. I tried to make this chap a bit longer, Gem. Love ya xxx**

**Thanks to the Thesaurus I got from school, it helped me find great words to put in this story, such as conflagration, crystalline, squalid and more...**

**Thanks to everyone who has read this and did not review! Thanks for reading my story!**

**xxx =)**


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